Of Mages and Martyrdom
by Nommy
Summary: Templars rule in tyranny in Kirkwall. Mages are potential portals for demons. When your very existence is a disgrace to the Maker life becomes very cheap indeed. A young woman fights with brutality in adverse, deranged with violence, Tullia Wross plots to murder the Knight-Commander Meredith. She will stop at nothing to achieve this goal, forsaking all even the mages.


**Prologue**

**The Martyred Ones**

The sun bore down so heavily in the morning that the stench from the Gallows' retched underground cells rose from the bowels of the city of Kirkwall and mingled with the already putrid airs of the righteous who were gathered before a wooden scaffold. A small crowd of onlookers were gathered; nobles who were interested to see the Maker's judgment fall upon the apostate filth – sympathisers aligned the ever vigilant Templars. Mages, who were forced to witness their fate should they turn from their saviours and salvation from themselves and of course, their gaolers – the Templars were there too, presiding over the execution sternly and stonily.

"Knight-Commander?" Ser Thrask rasped, appalled at the sight; his stark blue eyes were ablaze below a pair of shaggy ginger eyebrows – which twitched with his fury. The Knight-Commander of the Templar Order turned a cold eye on him; her slim barely-visible brow rose imperiously; "Yes, Ser Thrask, what is it?" She asked indifferently as she returned her attention to the scaffold. The senior Templar stepped forward, his throat contracting; "Commander...I-I really must protest to this drastic action. These mages are-"

"_Apostates_, Thrask." Meredith fumed sternly; "They are apostates and they cannot be suffered."

"But...but they are merely children!"

It was true. Atop the scaffold, stood rigidly were three young boys; the eldest no older than fifteen and the youngest no younger than twelve. Meredith's blue eyes lingered on them and there was a hint of genuine pity in her voice as she stipulated with certainty, "No matter their ages, Thrask. Those boys are all mages; they have wielded magic – the oldest one used flames on our men. They have been exposed too long, who knows what befouls their young minds. I will not risk the safety of our mages by bringing them into the Circle." Thrask gasped,

"Commander, please! There...there must be some other way?" He fumbled with his words and stepped back when Meredith rounded on him and spat desperately; "What would you have me do, Thrask?! They are apostates! Magic is a curse, a dangerous and foul curse! Those boys pose more of a threat to our people than anything else in this city. Would you turn them loose to hurt the very people – the innocents – you swore to protect, ser?"

"I..." Ser Thrask began, but his tone had lost its edge. He knew she was right – and although she took no pleasure in this decision and neither he with her logic – it still left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I understand, Commander. Forgive me."

"Maker forgive them." Meredith uttered as she turned back. Ser Thrask bowed his head, "And have mercy on them." He added quietly before he peered over the small intimate crowd of people all eyeing the wooden platform. Three nooses hung from a high beam, one for each lad. Thrask let out a strangled sigh, looking away; he would not watch this. He _could_ not.

The gathered onlookers all mumbled as the Grand Cleric made her way through the din; she was humble, an old lady of advanced years with bright white hair that gleamed in the morning sun. Elegant was she, with bright grey eyes which held compassion and understanding. Grand Cleric Elthina was by no means a good looking woman, she was aged but the love she harboured for all the Maker's creations illuminated the dullness of her features and smoothed away any unpleasantness there was to be seen in her face. The lady of the Chantry cut a peaceful path through the crowd and stood before Meredith; her eyes were saddened and full of mercy.

"Meredith...This is madness." Elthina stated very quietly to the Knight-Commander. The Commander's mouth was set in a thin but determined line and in her own eyes shone shame, mixed strangely with her own justification that this was the only solution; "They are apostates, Grand Cleric." Meredith reiterated with more conviction; "This is all we can do for them; set them free and cleanse them in the Maker's sight."

"This is not the Maker's work, Meredith! This is lunacy and cruelty. You are murdering these children out of your own paranoia! I urge you to take them into your Circle. Show mercy."

"Why, is it because they are children?" Meredith asked, although her tone told the Grand Cleric that it was not really a question. "That is exactly why, Knight-Commander." Meredith's brow furrowed as she massaged the bridge of her nose, "Renegade mages of _any_ age must be dealt with. I will not release them only to hunt them for turning into abominations at a later date, Your Reverence. This is the only way."

"Is your heart truly so closed to your own mindlessness? Can you not see the ruthlessness you are sowing?"

"It is the only way. In the eyes of the Maker, I will protect this city from apostates. I swore a vow."

"You also swore a vow to protect the mages in your charge, child."

The Grand Cleric ordained staunchly before she bowed her head; "And if this is the only avenue you can truly see, then you shame the Chant, the Maker and Our Lady Andraste." Meredith gasped as the old lady turned on her heel and parted the crowd in her departure.

"Knight-Commander?"

Meredith's eyes followed the Grand Cleric as she exited the execution site; they fell to the ground for a brief moment before flicking back up and hanging on the boys lined up on the platform. They were all sandy-haired youths, their faces frightened and full of despair. Dragging her gaze away, Meredith consoled herself that the faces of children meant nothing when behind them in the shadows was a demon pulling the strings. With that thought, the Knight-Commander raised her gauntleted hand and made the signal for the boys to be noosed.

The crowd watched rapt at the boys were all fitted with their ropes – the littlest one had began to sob silently. All three of them were brothers, that much was clear by their similarities of look and colouring. They had been discovered by the Templars, squatting in Darktown – all orphans - Meredith had had run-ins with their now-dead father, who was also an apostate mage.

Vanderr Wross was an escaped Circle mage out of Antiva who had sought refuge in the darkest parts of Kirkwall for some years before the Templars caught him and by then he had sired more little apostates. Who knew what he had taught them? Not Meredith, and she was not about to endanger anybody to find out. The tragedy of their age was by no means something that she was happy about, in fact, seeing the smallest lad cry made her heart wrench, but she could not look away. She was Knight-Commander and for the sake of her men and herself...she had to be forever vigilant.

Innocent faces had cost her lives in the past and she had vowed to never again lose another to such softness of heart. Never.

"Drop them." She commanded quietly and the hangman made towards the lever at another templar's gesture. Just before he could tug the lever, there was a blood-curdling scream of such unbridled anguish, Meredith was certain that it was the embodiment of her own grief piercing her very hearing. It was not.

A tiny figure bolted down the passageway which fed into the Gallows; a little girl, with sandy hair and eyes which were huge and frightened, she smashed into the backs of the people gathered in a desperate attempt to get nearer to the scaffold. Meredith frowned deeply and made towards the child, but she saw that the eldest boy on the platform was glaring down at the girl sternly and full of anxiety. "Massere!" The child screamed shrilly at the headsman, "Please, please let them down!" The big man faltered his mask hid any emotion that may have played along his face, "Commander?" He began, muffled.

"Enough! What is this? Who is that child? Bring her to me." Meredith ordered and the girl was escorted through the onlookers, who all seemed to be losing their stomach for this spectacle.

"You, child," Meredith began as she sank to her heels to be eye-level with the girl, "What is your name?"

"Tullia, massere." The child squeaked, her eyes were hidden behind her matted hanks of dirty hair. Meredith frowned deeply and asked softly, "Tullia, why are you trying to save those boys? Do you know what they are?"

"They're not _malificar_. I swear it to you, serah. They're not!"

"They have proven themselves to be apostates, girl. Maybe not malificar, but they are dangerous nonetheless."

The child's face turned up then and Meredith saw the resemblance to the boys; she saw the deep-set eyes, dark of colour, not quite brown, they had a strange hue of ruby in them, almond and innocent - Meredith was gripped by a dread so chilling that she shot up to her true height and swore; "_Damn_ you, Wross." The girl's strange eyes followed her as the Knight-Commander ordered, "Another noose."

"Commander!" Thrask struggled for breath,

"Maker preserve us, they are everywhere." Meredith uttered, ignoring the templar.

Suddenly the girl was hefted up by her skinny arms and was being dragged through the crowd towards the scaffold; there were cries of women, holding their faces and turning them from the vulgarity of the scene. The mages silently bent their heads and had to bite down on their own indignation while some of the templars hesitated at the new development. The child was taken and placed beside her brothers, stood beside the smallest boy; the crowd watched her tremble and take his hand and Meredith heard their collective keen of sympathy.

"This is bloody wrong." She overheard one noble mumble.

"Mercy, Knight-Commander!" One woman pleaded from the midst of the crowd.

"People!" Meredith bellowed and they all turned. Pointing a finger towards the scaffold, the Knight-Commander said in a strong voice; "These...children are a danger! "Magic exists to serve man, never to rule over him." Those words are the words spoken by the Prophet Andraste, our Maker's Bride. Do not let their sweet countenances fool you – they were born from the seed of a malificar – a blood mage – who escaped his Circle. They are a danger-"

"Our father was _not_ a blood mage!" One of the lads screamed – the middle one.

The crowd began to all mutter amongst themselves and Meredith felt her power wane under the leniency they were turning towards. The din was silenced when they heard the cries of the two youngest; the girl had her brother's tiny pale hand in her own, squeezing it to comfort the boy who was sobbing pitifully before he bawled,

"Please! Please, no! I don't want to die! Please!"

"Commander, this won't stand – we need to release them."

"Never!" Meredith snapped at Thrask, "They all bear the faces of children; their minds are riddled with demons!" Thrask huffed and returned, "Then they can undergo Harrowings, the lot of them. It is more just than...than this! Tranquillity, even? We cannot begin executing children!"

"That is what unmans you, Thrask? Their faces – I too feel as you do, but we cannot lose sight of the peril. The eldest is probably already been exposed to blood magic, you cannot tell me that Vanderr did not pass on his knowledge to his eldest! What father does not teach his child to defend himself?"

"We...we cannot know that, Commander." Thrask argued reasonably.

"It is the unknowns that get people killed, ser. No, I will not...I _cannot_ hazard this."

"Knight-Commander?" The voice was new. Making Meredith and Thrask look down; they both eyed a tall man with jet black hair that was pulled back in a loose ponytail. His handsome face was smooth and scored slightly with age; a ragged shadow of stubble ran along his jaw and in his right ear hung a single golden hoop. He looked to be Ravaini or maybe Antivan. There was another man at his side, who seemed to be very uncomfortable and nipped at the speaker's arm to make him turn away, but the darker man stood fast and gazed levelly at the Knight-Commander. "If I may speak?" He said with quiet dignity; Meredith sighed,

"Only if what you have to say is of any relevance, Grey Warden."

The Grey Warden's companion clicked his tongue and turned away, but the other stayed calm and gestured slowly with both hands; "I could take one of those children and receive them into the Grey Wardens...We are always in need of fine young recruits...Magic is – can be – a useful tool against the darkspawn." Meredith cocked an eyebrow and made a sweeping motion with her hand, "Out of the question!"

The Warden stepped back and frowned as Meredith snapped; "Those boys and that girl may have been open to the elements of blood magic and have been exposed to a dangerous malificar – no, I cannot permit you to take them."

"What about one of the younger ones, Commander? Surely their understanding of the cardinal rules of magic can be re-impressed if they have not been already? Surely they do not deserve to die for an accident of birth, regardless of parentage."

"You fool no one, Grey Warden. I know what you would seek to use those children for!"

"Then I will conscript them," He said evenly to which Meredith marched towards him and pointed at his chest; "You have to power of conscription, Warden. I see no darkspawn to be felled!"

"Yet you see demons at every corner? They pale in comparison to darkspawn, Knight-Commander."

"Do not lecture me, boy!" She snarled there was a vein throbbing in her forehead and she was beginning to grow weary of this debacle. "I have seen the very worst of demonic possession-"

"Those children do not look to be possessed." The Warden's companion piped before turning away again.

Finally Meredith shrugged and fumed, "I suppose this is what you would call a decent compromise, Thrask? The deaths of two young men on our orders would be less grave than that of four children, which is true." The templar sucked in a breath and let his shoulders slump. "Shall I call them down, Commander?"

"The youngest, Ser Thrask. The boy for the Circle and the girl for the Wardens."

The redheaded templar bobbed his head and marched over to the scaffold; taking the youngest from the platform, he battled with the girl as she screeched and begged for her elder brothers to be spared.

"No! No, you mustn't! You can't, please!"

When the children were safely ushered off the scaffold Thrask nodded sombrely to the headsman who then reached for the lever. Pressing both children to the coolness of his armour, he hid the severity of watching their brothers both break their necks on the end of the rope. The crowd let out a gasp as the two boys fell and then a terrible silence fell over the yard as they swung loftily.

Slowly, very slowly the crowd dispersed; Thrask eyed the children in his arms and let out a ragged sigh as he still had to hold the girl as she fought against his grip; "It is done, girl...Take comfort that they are by the Maker's side now." The girl's tear-stained face was nearly too much for him as he relinquished her to the Grey Warden, who took her hand tightly and passed her along to his companion. She was practically in a screaming fit; screeching and wailing uncontrollably.

"Thank you, Knight-Commander. We shall take our leave now."

"As well you should, Warden. I do not wish to see that girl in my city ever again."

"Micah!" The girl screamed, wriggling out of the man's grip, Tullia was bundled up by the Warden before she could get any closer; "Come," He said gently but she would not settle. "He will be alive and safe here; there is nothing more you can do." He soothed as she turned her eyes on him, blood-shot and tired, she pressed her head into the crook of his neck and wept as Ser Thrask spirited her brother away into the Gallows.


End file.
